Yesterday I wrote three pages in my novel. Then I looked down and I had twelve pages total. How did I get to twelve pages? I had thought I wasn’t writing.
How? I’ll tell you. By plugging away. Even if it was only ten lines before Gabriel woke up from his nap. I switched off my internal editor and forced myself to sit down, to turn on the computer while simultaneously not connecting the internet. I had little sayings at the top of my page that I would keep referring to. Things like, “just write one word at a time,” or “allow yourself to write crap,” or “be a God—a nasty, manipulative, jealous god, and mess with your characters lives.” (Not sure how that last one works with the motivational speaker-ness of the first ones, but it’s up there, too.)
I know 12 pages isn’t a lot. I know there’s a whole bunch more to go. But it’s a start, and it was really hard to get to this start.
And the story also took a turn I was not expecting, just by following where the characters wanted to go. I love it when that happens. It’s also good, because where I had to go before that was dry and expositional. Yea for being up for the adventure.